Chapter Text
The air in the Ling Xi Caves is thick and stagnant. Each surge of spiritual energy shakes dust loose from the ceiling.
Liu Qingge sits cross-legged at the center of the cavern, cold sweat beading at his temples as he fights to stay conscious.
Too late.
His spiritual platform is in chaos. Heat rips through his meridians in ragged threads, and the edges of his consciousness begin to splinter.
That inner demon, dormant for years and suppressed to the limit, finally seizes the opening. It slips in cold and slick, spreading through his mind with mockery and tempting whispers.
“Didn’t expect you’d dare to enter secluded cultivation here again.”
“Have you forgotten what happened to your family the last time you were trapped in the Ling Xi Caves?”
“No matter how strong you become, can you bring back the dead?”
“You’ve dragged yourself this far on sheer will alone. Aren’t you tired? Just let go.”
He clenches his teeth, forcing his breath into rhythm, struggling to hold onto the last sliver of clarity. But the voice is too loud. It echoes from his very heart, seeping into his divine sense strand by strand.
Rage wells up within him. He draws his sword. The blade flashes, and without hesitation, he plunges it straight into his chest.
“Shut up!”
A cold flash. Steel meets flesh.
The strike is swift and merciless, so sudden even he doesn’t register it in time.
But the instant the blade pierces his skin, something ancient, long forgotten, awakens within him.
A power bursts through his bones and blood.
It’s as if a spell long buried surges out from the very depths of his being, detonating wave after wave of searing pain and alien sensation throughout his limbs.
His entire body is aflame. His mind collapses under the onslaught of transformation, limbs limp and powerless. He drops the sword. With a clang, Cheng Luan falls to the ground.
The blade gives a low hum, the resonance fading. And just before falling unconscious, Liu Qingge has the vague impression—
That he’s… gotten smaller?
*** ***
When he wakes up, residual spiritual turbulence still lingers in the Ling Xi Caves. Dust floats in the air, and fragments of stone litter the ground, knocked loose from the cave walls by his runaway energy earlier.
The world before his eyes is strangely vast and unfamiliar, like the entire cave has suddenly grown ten times larger. Dim light filters through spiritual stones embedded in the rock walls, glinting off fine white fur that trembles in the still air.
Liu Qingge blinks.
Where his hand should be, there’s a small, fluffy thing: snowy white, streaked with dried blood, soft pads peeking out beneath curled claws.
A paw.
He stares. Then he stiffly lowers his head to see his round, chubby belly rise and fall gently with breath. A glance behind reveals a bushy tail swaying, immaculately groomed and silky, gleaming faintly—like some rare and noble spirit beast.
This is, this is…
He’s momentarily speechless, steadies himself, and stares at Cheng Luan lying on the ground not far away. It looks enormous now from his current perspective.
He tries to lower his voice and call out, “Cheng—”
“Meow.”
The soft, airy mewl with an upward lilt bounces from his throat. Liu Qingge leaps in shock, then hears himself let out a panicked, “Meow meow!” (Cheng Luan, it’s me!)
Cheng Luan remains perfectly still. Its glow has completely faded, lying silent on the ground as if saying, “Who are you?”
…Right. One can’t exactly expect a sword to understand Cat-speak.
He barely makes it two steps before his balance tips forward at a bizarre angle, and the entire cat goes down, face-first, in the most undignified pose imaginable.
Gritting his teeth, he struggles to his paws, inching forward with great effort. His four legs move in clumsy disarray, his body wobbling like a newborn fawn. After only a few steps, his head fails to keep up—bonk—he slams straight into the cave wall. The stone shudders. So does his mind.
He’s fairly certain he’s never bumped into this many things in his life.
He stumbles out of the cave. Dusk has fallen. Fog lingers thickly in the rear mountains. Mist curls between trees, and the wind carries the scent of grass roots and damp moss. He bolts a few steps forward, slips on a slope, and tumbles all the way down.
Rumble-rumble—flop!
He rolls to the bottom, collecting every leaf, twig, and clump of mud along the way. His white fur is barely visible beneath the grime, though his tail manages a few defiant flutters in the breeze.
When he finally crawls out of the underbrush, dragging himself over a tree root and gasping for air, he looks like a lump of mud dredged from a ditch. Cursing the heavens in his heart, he limps toward a pile of fallen leaves and dives in face-first.
The leaves are dry and thick, crunching underfoot with a faint musty scent, but at least they’re clean. He curls up into a tight ball, tucking his tail beneath his legs. All he wants is a nap.
Maybe if he sleeps, he’ll wake up normal again. Though maybe not.
Just as he thinks his new feline life can’t possibly get any worse, disaster descends upon him in a deceptively gentle and utterly catastrophic form.
He meets the greatest enemy of his cat life—humans.
More precisely, a young disciple of Qing Jing Peak with a disturbingly intense passion for rescuing stray animals.
The boy can’t be older than thirteen or fourteen, clad in a standard Qing Jing Peak disciple uniform that is ill-fitting, with the sleeves tied in knots. A bulging bamboo basket is strapped to his back. He’s lean, with messy hair gathered into a loose topknot. His eyes are big and bright like obsidian.
He squats in front of Liu Qingge, gaze so gentle it makes Liu Qingge’s fur stand on end. A sense of doom rises within him.
“Little one, you’re dirty… and hurt, too…” The boy’s voice is sweet and full of concern.
“Meow!” I'm not dirty. It’s camouflage. Stay back!
Too bad his voice doesn’t sound nearly as fierce as he imagines. In fact, it comes out rather soft, even a little pitiful.
“You’re really cute.” The boy chuckles, entirely unfazed by the very real threat of the war god, eyes curving into delighted crescents.
“?” What part of this is ‘cute’ to you?!
“Don’t worry. I’ll take you home,” the boy says gently.
Liu Qingge goes rigid with indignation. What home?!
The boy leans forward, tone tender as if coaxing a child, and stretches out his hands toward him.
“Meow!!” Stay back! Liu Qingge’s entire cat body puffs up in alarm. He slaps his paw out, full of righteous fury, aiming to swat away the incoming menace.
If this were before, with spiritual power at full charge, one swipe would’ve sent half of Bai Zhan Peak’s disciples flying.
Unfortunately, he has overestimated his current strength.
His paw brushes the boy’s fingers with all the might of a feather. No damage. In fact, it probably looks like he’s reaching out for a friendly touch.
The boy’s eyes light up. “You like me too? You want to come home with me?”
No no no, wait! That’s not what I meant!
That thin, clear face blooms with a smile as warm as spring sunlight. It’s too bright. Absurdly bright. Liu Qingge stares for a second, momentarily stunned, and before he can resist—though resistance is futile anyway—he’s scooped up into the boy’s arms.
“Meow!!!!!!” Put me down this instant!!!
“Easy now, no need to worry, we’ll be home soon,” the boy says soothingly.
…What part of me looks like I’m eager to go home with you?
Liu Qingge has no strength left to meow. In a blink, he’s wrapped tightly in a clean cloth, pressed snugly against the boy’s chest, completely baffled.
Powerless to resist, he’s carried in a gentle sway toward Qing Jing Peak. The boy seems in excellent spirits, hugging him while chatting nonstop.
“My name is Luo Binghe.”
“What’s your name?”
“You don’t have one?”
“How about... I call you Xiao Hui? Little Grey?”
“Meow!!!”
Liu Qingge musters the last ounce of strength in his feline body to deliver a powerful protest. He’s not grey! It’s camouflage. Adaptive coloration, do you understand?!
“You don’t like that name?”
“Meow!” (Obviously not.)
“Then what name do you want?”
Liu Qingge has no desire to entertain this conversation. But this concerns his dignity. With supreme effort, he lifts his tail and points it behind him, revealing a small tuft of white fur that—miraculously—has remained clean.
See that, ignorant human? White. Not grey.
The boy blinks.
“Ohhh, so you’re actually white! Then I’ll call you... Xiao Bai?”
Liu Qingge snorts internally. What a childish name. Call it if you want. I won’t respond anyway.
The boy just smiles and keeps walking. Occasionally, he hums a tune, something vaguely familiar, like a river shanty from the northern plains.
He smells faintly of sunlight and grass. The cloth is soft and clean, swaddling him snugly. Liu Qingge tries to squirm, his fur puffing out in disarray. His ears lie flat against the boy’s chest, where he can hear a steady, rhythmic heartbeat. The mountain wind stirs a few drooping tufts of fur on his head, making him look utterly defeated.
Liu Qingge closes his eyes. To his horror, he realizes that in the calm rhythm of it all, he’s actually starting to doze off.
That’s when he knows: his dignity as Bai Zhan’s mighty war god was utterly shattered—the moment he turned into a cat.